


Follies and Nonsense

by Fire_Sign, Heavyheadedgal, MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy, Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Birthday Party, Gen, References to Jane Austen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/pseuds/Heavyheadedgal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/pseuds/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For jasbo, whose birthday it is - happy birthday, my friend! We made you a thing!</p><p>It's Jane's 18th birthday, and she requested a Regency-themed ball (she's just finished rereading <em>Pride and Prejudice</em>). The gang's all there, in costume!</p><p>“Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can.” ― Jane Austen, <em>Pride and Prejudice</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jasbo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasbo/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dot helps Jane put on the finishing touches before her big night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy

“Thank you for helping me get ready Dot. I’m sure Mary could have managed but it’s ever so much nicer to have time with you, like it used to be.”

“Happy to do it Jane. And, it’s a lovely idea for a party, everyone dressed up like this. I haven’t been in a frock this fancy since my wedding day.”

They smiled warmly at each other and Dot continued to arranged the sausage curls to look just like the image on the painting that Jack had given to Jane at Christmas. It really was remarkable how much the girl in the portrait resembled Jane. Of course Phryne had talked her into adding a sparkling, feathered fascinator because she was the birthday girl. Ahem, _birthday woman_ , after all.

Jane marvelled at how lucky she was that she had a guardian angel like Miss Fisher who was making her dream birthday a reality. She especially recognized how fortunate she was to have a celebration like this considering what was going on in the rest of the country right now. She was so grateful that people were making gifts in her honor to soup kitchens instead of spending money on presents.

“Penny for your thoughts Jane.”

“Just thinking how lucky I've been to end up with Miss Phryne and Jack. Well, and all of you really. You and Hugh, plus Mr. Butler, Bert and Cec. Doctor Mac, even Aunt Prudence!

 _“We've_ been awfully lucky, Jane. All of us. Phryne helped us all to be brave in our own ways and stand on our own two feet. I love my family, but not in the same way I love all of you. If that makes sense?”   

“Absolutely Dot! I will always love my Mother and I miss her terribly, especially on a day like today. I know she did her best but it wasn’t until Miss Phryne that I felt I had a home.” Dot grasped her hand hoping to keep both their tears at bay.

“No matter what happens at university and beyond I’ll never forget how she introduced me to the world of literature, the fancy clothes, the wonderful schools, how to drive, and how to defend myself.”

Dot had felt her heart break listening to Jane; however, she couldn’t help but chuckle at that last bit. “Well, the jury is still out on the driving lessons Jane. I think the fact you have a license at all is due to the Inspector more than Phryne.”

Jane made a face at Dot that reduced them both to giggles.

“Jane, you talk as if everything will change next month when you leave for university. You’ll be much closer to all of us being in Sydney than you were in France. As you are already settled up there, you might actually make it to more holidays now and perhaps even a certain Daisy Collins birth.

Dot patted her ever-growing belly. Dot and her mother were absolutely convinced she was carrying a girl. Her baby was sitting high in her belly and she had a lovely round shape. Plus, Dot had been craving sweets for weeks. And everyone knew that meant you were going to have a girl. Jane suspected that was more old wives tale than science but kept her opinion to herself.

“Oh, Daisy agrees! Feel.”

Jane smiled at her friend and laid her head and one hand on Dot’s belly. Sure enough there was movement!

“Oh, I  am so happy for you and Hugh, Dot. I can’t wait to meet her and of course read her stories. I am so very happy that you and Hugh found each other and worked through your challenges to get married. I hope one day I will find someone as handsome as Hugh, as altruistic as Jack, as affable as Cec, as endearing as Bert, as wise as Mr. Butler, and as tenacious as Mac.”

Dot had to giggle, “That sounds like it came directly out of Phryne’s mouth. There is little doubt who your guardian is! It also sounds like one truly extraordinary person to meet Jane. However, promise me you won’t spend so much time looking up into the clouds that you miss someone right under your nose! You may meet someone with a bit of all of those things but each trait may not be obvious right from the start. Sometimes, people have to grow into things. Remember, patience is a virtue!”

Jane smiled at her pragmatic friend. She knew she had high standards, but thought she would be able to see a diamond in the rough if one presented themselves to her. Jane believed herself to be somewhere between the clever, yet proud Lizzie Bennet and her idealistic sister Jane. At least she hoped so!

Dot secured the fascinator with one final bobby pin. “There! That should keep it secure through every spin and twirl on the dance floor this evening.”

Dot took a step back and the two of them stared at Jane’s reflection in the vanity.

“Jane, you’re beautiful!”

Jane could hardly believe her own transformation. She thought she might feel a bit like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s (well Phryne’s) clothes but instead she felt like a woman, or at least a proper lady.

“Dot, you’re amazing! I can’t believe you did it, I look just like the painting.”

“You look ten times better than that painting!”

Phryne had slipped into the room while they were chatting and her assertion gave them both a little start. She stood with them at the vanity. “You look absolutely ravishing my darling. I have no doubt you’ll breaks some hearts this evening.”

“As will you Miss, that gown is absolutely exquisite. You look like a queen.”

Madame Fleuri had designed an exceptional gown for Phryne. It was ivory satin covered in very detailed tambour work in various shades of gold metallic thread using diamond shapes that covered the skirt with beautiful leaf shapes at the borders. The tambour work was accented with  rhinestones that shimmered just like diamonds, sapphires and rubies. Large medallions in the same rhinestones created a false closure at the front of the empire waist.There was a brilliant royal blue velvet bodice that was covered by wide netting made of the same gold thread and rhinestones. Matching blue satin peeked out from under the gold corded tassel at the front hemline. The dress was truly one-of-a-kind with just enough sparkle to catch the light but not enough to draw all attention away from Jane.

“A Countess is more my speed Dot. All of the lovely invitations with half of the stuffy obligations. And the freedom to select your own consort.” She finished with a wink at Jane.

“I can’t thank you enough for tonight Phryne. It’s already so magical.”

“Pish posh, the magic is just beginning my dear Jane. And for you, I would do anything. Never ever forget that. You may be a woman in your own right now, but I will be by your side, always.”

“My guardian angel.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to see the gown Phryne is wearing. You can find it here! http://www.antiquedress.com/item1904.htm


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By Fire_Sign

Phryne surveyed the arrangements a final time; Rippon Lea’s transformation into a Regency-inspired ballroom was sensational. Certainly, some people would quibble, it was not _entirely_ authentic—there were limits to the creature comforts that Phryne was willing to forego—but it was all the better for it. Satisfied that there was nothing left undone, she joined Jane and Aunt Prudence in welcoming the guests who had begun to arrive.

It hardly seemed possible that the poised young lady beside her was the same girl that had stowed away on the Ballarat train, at least until she turned to Phryne after a particularly onerous guest had greeted her with backhanded compliments and rolled her eyes. Phryne smirked back in agreement, certain that said guest would be put in his place by the end of the evening.

When most of the guestlist had arrived, Phryne returned to the main ballroom to see how the event was proceeding. And, though she would deny it adamantly, to see exactly how well Jack Robinson filled out breeches. The answer to both was a resounding Very Well Indeed; she grabbed two champagne glasses and made her way across the room, stopping to speak to one guest or another.

“Good evening, inspector,” she said when she finally reached him. “I’ve heard that you are one of Scotland Yard’s finest officers.”

He took the proffered drink, smirking as he took a sip.

“That is a _slight_ anachronism, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne waved her hand dismissively. “Piffling detail. What do you think of the arrangements?”

“This evening is, much like its organiser, faultless in spite of its faults.”

“That _almost_ sounds like a compliment.”

“You know me too well to ever assume such a thing,” he replied archly, then relaxed. “I’m sure Jane is absolutely over the moon about it; you’ve outdone yourself once again, Phryne.”

She took a sip of champagne to keep herself from kissing him then and there, a fact that—judging from the look in his eyes—he did not miss, but kindly did not point out.

“Is the costume to your satisfaction?” he asked instead.

She looked him up and down appraisingly; she’d already determined that it was very satisfactory indeed, but a second examination would never go awry. Heaven forbid she be remiss in her assessments. His curls were neat but untamed, an event she associated far more commonly with more intimate meetings, and he’d grown out sideburns for the event. He had grumbled about it, rather good naturedly, and she’d promised him all sorts of delightful things when it came time to shave it off. His coat was a dark green, his breeches buff, and—much to her amusement—he had even conceded to the thrice-damned cravat. Really, the only complaint to be made was that the tails of the coat obscured one of his best features; still, all she’d need to do was have him model the outfit sans jacket later on. She couldn’t imagine he would be anything but amenable to the suggestion.

“With that costume and ten thousand a year, you’d have all the Mrs Bennets of the world beating down your door.”

“Alas,” he sighed, “I am but a poor relation.”

“It’s lucky for you that some of us women are of independent means.”

Jack raised his glass in acknowledgement.

“You needn’t entertain me if you have hostess duties to attend to,” he said. “I’m quite content here, and I will no doubt be dragged further into the festivities soon enough.”

And while he looked suitably annoyed at the prospect, there was the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.

“At this rate you may find that you enjoy yourself,” she teased. “All the event really needs is a murder.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you to have arranged one for the evening’s entertainment,” he said dryly.

Phryne cast her eye around, finally pointing out a rather rotund matron of society across the room. She was a perfectly lovely woman Jane knew through school, but Jack had never met her and was therefore perfect for her purposes.

“Adelaide White,” she said. “That punch is poisoned. A scandalously young husband who is carrying on with the maid, three children all in dire need of money, and a second cousin once removed who was all set to marry the first Mr. White twenty years ago before Adelaide swept in and took her place.”

“Evidence at the scene?” The question was asked before he thought to stop himself.

“The note implicates the husband, but is actually the hand of the eldest son. The cousin was seen at the punch bowl even though she was not invited to the event. And the youngest child—a daughter, if it makes a difference—was the one who brought the drink to her mother.”

Jack tilted his head and mused over the details.

“I presume Mrs. White’s death was at the hand of the maid?”

Phryne laughed lightly.

“Haven’t a clue, I just created the situation as I went. Jane specifically asked for no murders until at least midnight. But really, it was too good a chance to pass up.“

Jack shook his head, then gestured towards one of the servants trying to catch Phryne’s attention.

“I believe your presence is required, Miss Fisher.”

“So it is.”

“Will you save at least one dance for me?” Jack asked.

Despite their long entanglement, there was no hint that she should feel obliged. He really was endearingly considerate; he was also wrong. She tossed her head, plumage of her rather large hair ornament bouncing, and pulled a dance card out of her decolletage. He swallowed quickly and glanced away, red tinging the very top of his ears. It would be a sad day indeed when she could no longer fluster him.

“I’ve already pencilled you in,” she said. “I never miss a chance to scandalise with a waltz.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosie attends Jane's party with a special someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By Heavyheadedgal.

Rosie thought she was going to be sick.

The lights from Prudence Stanley’s home spilled across the ground, falling just short of the car where she sat with Mac.

“Well,” said Mac, “shall we make an entrance?” She reached over for Rosie’s hand. Rosie pulled back, and opened the passenger door. She stumbled out of the car, and leaning against it, tried to take deep breaths.

She heard the sound of the driver’s door opening and shutting, and felt Mac’s hand brush her elbow.

“Rosie.”

Rosie didn’t answer. She kept her hand pressed to her stomach. It would be a shame to ruin the lavender silk.

Mac stepped around, and put a hand to Rosie’s face. “Those are our friends in that house, Rosie. They’re my family.”

“Exactly. What if—“

“Then we’ll get new friends.” Mac’s eyes never left hers.

That was not necessarily reassuring. Dancing with Mac in the dark, smoky bar where they had met, or at the private club with other like-minded women, was not the same thing as dancing together in a brightly-lit ballroom full of elderly aunts and young people, not to mention one’s ex-husband.

“We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”

Rosie heard the note of resignation in Mac’s voice, and gritted her teeth. _Chin up_ , _Rosemary_ , she told herself. _What would Elizabeth Bennet do?_

“What I want,” Rosie said, taking Mac’s hand, “is to dance with you.”

***

They had received their invitations separately. Rosie and Jack had managed to create a new friendship out of the ashes of their marriage; and in the aftermath of Sidney Fletcher, she found Phryne to be a woman of empathy and great compassion. When Phryne had handed her the invitation to Jane’s 18th birthday party, she insisted, “Do feel free to bring an escort Rosie. The more the merrier!” The image of Mac in form-fitting breeches and a tailcoat had flashed through her mind and she could only manage a vague reply.

Her romance with Dr. Elizabeth Macmillan was as exhilarating as it had been unexpected. For nearly a year they had been furtively meeting, at Mac’s flat, or at Novak’s, an establishment by the docks that had a back room for ladies of a particular persuasion. There had been hand-holding and secret kisses at the pictures, and romps in Mac’s bed that left her breathless.

After one particularly enthusiastic encounter (Mac had been rushed off her feet at work, and they hadn’t seen each other for a week), Mac lifted her head from between Rosie’s shaking thighs and said, “Why don’t you come with me?”

“I believe I just did,” Rosie panted.

“I mean to the ball. Jane’s party,” Mac clarified, with a smirk.

“But—as a couple? Are you serious?”

“As a sermon”, Mac winked, and tossed her red hair out of her eyes. The sight made Rosie’s body feel fizzy with desire and excitement, as if she was a glass full of champagne.

“Can we do that?” Rosie wondered, trying to focus on the question at hand.

Mac crawled up her body and leaned over, brushing Rosie’s lips with her own. “This is a Phryne Fisher affair, sweetheart. The invitation said _And guest_ , and she knows I won’t be arriving with my brother.” Bright blue eyes regarded her softly. “We’ll be welcome, together.”

“But...everyone will know. About us. Phryne –and   _Jack_.”

“Would you rather remain discreet?” Mac asked, her face impassive.

 _Yes. No._ Publically admitting they were anything more than indifferent acquaintances was plainly mad (and one heard such unpleasant things about the Victoria State Mental Asylum). Part of her enjoyed having something that was just hers, entirely. But it meant she had to go through her day pretending her life hadn’t changed irrevocably, explaining her good mood and secret smiles with inane remarks on the beautiful weather. She had to bite her tongue every time some asked her how she was, so she didn’t respond with _I’m in love!_

Mac rolled onto her back, and reached for her cigarettes.

“An Austen themed costume ball,” Rosie mused. “I loved those books, as a girl.”

One thing Austen’s heroines were not was cowardly. Even Fanny Price was brave, when it came to it.

“Alright,” she said finally. “As long as you promise me the first two dances.”  

“Deal,” Mac grinned, and pulled her over for another kiss.

***

Rosie clutched Mac’s arm as they entered the ballroom, crowded with people in 19th century Regency dress. A string quartet at one end played country dance tunes.

 “I feel silly,” she said, just for something to say.

“Silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent way,” quoted Mac, who shrugged.

Rosie had to admit that Mac did not look silly in the least. She wore regimentals, a decision that had surprised Rosie at first. But the bright red coat echoed the warmth of Mac’s hair; trimmed in dark blue, with gold epaulets and gold fastenings across the front, it drew the eye to the breadth of her shoulders and made her blue eyes even more striking. Fitted white breaches, smart black boots, and a fringed red sash around her trim waist completed the look. Her hair was braided back in a military queue with a black velvet ribbon. The entire outfit was a masterpiece created by Signor Antonio, Mac’s tailor, a flamboyant little man responsible for Mac’s collection of impeccably cut waistcoats (and who wasn’t any more Italian than Rosie herself).

Mac turned and whispered in Rosie’s ear. “You’re beautiful in that dress.”  Rosie pressed her lips together and struggled not to blush. “Flatterer,” she replied. Phryne had set up an account with Madame Fleuri to make the dresses for the guests, and Rosie had enjoyed planning her costume. It had provided a welcome distraction from the nerves that overwhelmed her when she thought of the ball itself. Rosie wore lavender silk, trimmed around the neck, waist and sleeves with simple gold ribbon. She had lavender ribbon twined through her hair, which was piled high in the Grecian style of the era. A simple white lace shawl contrasted with the ensemble. What on earth she would do with an Empire-waist Regency dress after this event was a complete mystery, but Rosie loved it passionately nonetheless.

They were greeted warmly by Jane and Phryne, arm in arm. Jane, bless her, didn’t bat an eye to see Rosie on Mac’s arm. And Rosie was interested to note that Phryne didn’t seem overly surprised either; her smile was warm, and knowing. Rosie felt the ice in her stomach begin to melt. 

“I want to hear all about how you met!” Jane gushed. “Was it very romantic?” 

“It was,” Rosie said, smiling. “In fact, she came to my rescue. I had a rather enthusiastic dance partner, and Dr. Macmillan caught me when I tripped and fell.”

“Really?” Jane was delighted.

“She twisted her ankle, is all,” grumbled Mac, rolling her eyes. “I was simply doing my job.”

“I’m not sure flirting outrageously and buying me a drink counts as medical care,” retorted Rosie. She vividly remembered the feel of Mac’s strong, assured hands holding her stockinged ankle, feeling for injuries. Mac had looked up with those blue eyes of hers and Rosie simply _knew_ , in that moment.

“Mac, you vixen, I knew you’d been keeping secrets from me!” Phryne said, smiling brilliantly at them. “I want the full story by the end of the evening. You’re not leaving until I hear every detail.” She kissed her friend, laughing.

“Was it that obvious?” Mac smiled.

“You only get secretive when you’re in love, darling.”

“Alright, enough!” Mac raised her hands defensively. “Where’s the drink? I better get started if I’m going to be telling this story all night.”

Rosie pulled back as Mac started toward the bar. “Get me a glass of champagne,” she said.” I’m going to go say hello to Jack.” She had spotted him in a corner, chatting with Cec and Alice.

“Alone?” Mac asked, squeezing her elbow gently.

“Yes,” said Rosie, with more confidence than she felt. Not that she was afraid of Jack, but her heart still pounded, all the same. Perhaps...she was simply excited.

As Rosie approached, she caught Jack’s eye. He excused himself from his conversation and came to meet her.

“Hello Jack.”

“Rosie.” He treated her to one of his warmest smiles. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You look rather dashing. I always said you should wear green more often, it suits you.”

They stood quietly a moment, as Rosie tried to think of where to begin.

“How about a dance?” Jack asked her, quietly. “For old times’ sake.”

“Later, maybe.” Rosie took a deep breath. “I’ve promised the first two dances to my date.”

“Oh? And who’s the lucky fellow?” Jack asked, sipping his champagne.

“Dr. Elizabeth Macmillan.”

Jack managed to avoid choking on his drink, although it was a near thing.

 _You don’t mind?_ Rosie thought. But she wouldn’t, she _wouldn’t_ ask it.

Jack saw the anxiety in her face, and took Rosie’s hand. “I’ve always thought Dr. Macmillan an excellent judge of character.” His voice was solemn.

“Dear Jack.” Rosie gripped his hand. “Serious as ever.”

“Yes, well,” he said, looking abashed,”it seems now I owe Phryne a fiver.”

“What!” Rosie exclaimed, laughing.

“She has a bit of a matchmaking streak.” He grimaced. “As bad as Emma Woodhouse.”

“I suppose that makes you Mr. Knightley.” Rosie smiled at him, feeling wonderfully light.

He tilted his head. ”And you? Which Austen heroine are you?”

She considered a moment, then said, “I’m just Rosie.”

 Looking across the room at Mac, she added, “And now I’m going to dance with my Lizzie.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane dances with Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by Sarahtoo

Jane Ross stood in the doorway of the ballroom at Aunt Prudence’s house, smiling as she surveyed the crowd. It was her birthday—her eighteenth!—and when Phryne had asked what kind of party she wanted, she had known immediately. She’d recently read _Pride and Prejudice_ again for what seemed like the millionth time since Jack had first given it to her, and she’d immediately thought of the ball at Netherfield. When she’d suggested the idea of a Regency-themed fancy dress ball to Phryne, her guardian had been thrilled with the challenge.

“Wonderful idea, darling!” Phryne had cried. “I’d bet Aunt P would loan us her house—we can invite the world!”

“Mmm, maybe just family, and a few friends?” Jane had demurred. “I really want everyone to come and have fun. If there are too many society people there, it’ll be stuffy.”

“Fair point,” Phryne said. “Right then—you make up the guest list, and I’ll call Aunt P.”

“Thank you, Phryne!” Jane clapped her hands in delight.

“And we’ll need to get in with Madame Fleuri for the costumes,” Phryne had pulled a sheet of paper from a cubby in her desk and was busily taking notes.

“Do you think that Jack, Bert, and Cec will dress up?”

“Oh, they will if I have anything to say about it,” Phryne said, cocking an eyebrow at her ward, a smirk on her lips. “And I’d bet that Jack and Cec will do it for you with very little argument. Bert might be a little harder to convince, but I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Jane looked down at herself now, thrilled with her lovely gold-shot pink silk gown with its Empire waist and short, puffed sleeves. The lace overlay on the bodice and sleeves was a pale ecru, the same shade as her long satin gloves. Her hair was done up in a bun with a sparkling feathered fascinator, sausage curls framing her face, and she wore a golden necklace with a small book-shaped locket that Phryne and Jack had given her for her birthday; the locket was engraved with a quote from Hamlet, “’Tis in my memory lock’d, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.” Inside the locket was a small photo of her mother, who had passed away the year before.

“So that your mother can be with you on this special day,” Phryne had said. Jane had nearly cried—her eyes were welling slightly now—but she’d hugged Phryne and Jack tightly, thanking them.

Looking around the room, she gloried in the beautiful costuming everyone wore. Phryne and Mademoiselle Fleuri had collaborated to create some inexpensive versions of Regency dress, and Phryne had provided their less well-to-do friends with costumes to wear. Alice was stunning in ivory damask, her dark hair piled high on her head, and Cec matched her with his dark coat and tails and a waistcoat made of the same fabric as her dress. Bert had been coerced into wearing a costume too, and the silvery gray fabric of his waistcoat made his blue eyes stand out very charmingly.

Dot was beautiful in her gown, her pregnant belly poking out under the empire waist. She’d at first refused to let Phryne purchase the gown for her, but the fabric won her over—the silk was shot with gold, and the deep russet color flattered her pale skin. Hugh obviously approved—he hadn’t left her side all evening, and he looked very handsome himself in a brown and cream ensemble that harmonized beautifully with his wife’s.

And Mac! Mac had decided that she would wear regimentals—“What is an Austen party without someone in a red coat?”—and she looked divine. She’d braided her hair tight against her head, but left a military queue poking down to her shoulders. She looked quite dashing. She had spent most of the evening beside Rosie Sanderson, who was stunning in lavender trimmed with gold. Jane hadn’t realized that the two were even friends, but they looked happy. She was glad to see that Rosie had someone to talk to.

Even Jack had been willing to be outfitted in Regency style—he’d complained at first, of course, but Jane thought that was likely as much to get Phryne to “convince” him as out of any real hesitation on his part. He stood across the room now, eyeing the buffet table. He looked, as Elizabeth Bennet might say, “very well” in his costume, Jane thought. Phryne had chosen it very carefully. His deep green jacket with its cut waist and tails flattered his skin tone and his buff-colored breeches tucked into high brown boots were perfectly in period. His green and gold brocade waistcoat matched the tone of his jacket exactly, and Mr Butler had helped him tie a blindingly white cravat around the high collar of his white shirt. He was her father, to all intents and purposes, but she could see that he really was a handsome man.

Jane smiled at Jack as he reached to pop a cucumber sandwich into his mouth before looking around a little guiltily. Catching Jane’s eye, he tilted his head at her before beginning to move through the crowd in her direction, still chewing. When he reached her, he gave a tiny bow, and she responded with a small curtsey.

“Miss Ross, may I have the next dance?” He said, straightening. His voice was quiet but his eyes laughed into hers.

“Delighted, Mr Robinson,” she said demurely, a small smile playing around her lips.

Jack turned to stand beside her, his hands linked behind his back.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Jane?” His glance at her was subtle, but she caught it.

“I am, very much,” she responded, flashing him a smile. “Everyone looks so wonderful, don’t they?”

Jane enjoyed watching the current crowd of dancers—the party wasn’t huge; they’d invited several of her school friends and their families in addition to their nearest and dearest. Jane felt her heart swell. All of these people had turned out for her. She was so fortunate to be a part of this family; since she’d come to live with Phryne, her life had been so marvelous, even taking into account being in occasional danger due to one of Phryne and Jack’s cases.

“Shall we, my lady?”

Jane turned to Jack, who was holding his hand out. With a small start, she realized that the music had ended while she’d been woolgathering.

“Indeed, sir!” she said with a smile, laying her hand in his. He led her out onto the floor and smiled a little shyly at her as they positioned themselves for a waltz.

“I hope I don’t step on your toes,” Jack said softly.

“Phryne says that you waltz divinely,” Jane replied, her belief in him unshaken.

“She might be a bit biased,” he retorted, “but let’s hope she’s right.” Jane laughed lightly, as he no doubt intended, and he swept her into the dance.

 _Waltzing is exhilarating,_ Jane thought. _No wonder the society matrons worried that it would corrupt their young men and women!_ And Jack was a very good leader, so she really only had to follow. They whirled around the floor, their steps in rhythm.

“You know, it’s hard for me to believe you’re eighteen,” Jack remarked as they turned. “I remember the first time I saw you, on the train to Ballarat, your hands filled with pink diamonds. You were scrawny and dirty and defiant—oh, so defiant!” He paused, his eyes on hers twinkling. “I liked you immediately.”

“Ha!” Jane replied, “You did not! You thought I was stubborn and disobedient and guilty, at least of theft—admit it!”

“Well, yes,” he allowed, “but I still liked you. I liked your spunk.”

“Whereas I was certain you were going to turn me over to the Welfare, and the horror stories I’d been told about that were legendary,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at him. “I learned early not to trust the police. I was sure the only person I could trust was myself.” She sighed a little. “And then Phryne came.”

“She did,” Jack acknowledged quietly. “I think that she liked you almost immediately too. She didn’t want to, I don’t think, but you reminded her a little bit of herself.”

“I know I liked her. She’s so beautiful, I thought she looked like an angel—don’t tell her that!” Jack laughed out loud, and the sound made Jane smile. “She smelled so good, and she’s just so _vibrant_! I just… wanted to be _with_ her, if that makes sense? And then she was so kind to me.” Her voice was a little wondering at the idea, even now.

“That part was easy, I think,” Jack said. “You invite kindness.”

Jane smiled up at him. “Now who’s biased?”

Jack grinned. “I only speak the truth,” he replied, and swept her into another turn.

When her laughter died down, she went on. “And then I got to know _you_.”

“I remember the first letter you wrote me—the thank-you note for my help with the Foyle situation.”

“Well, a girl never forgets her first mummy,” she quipped, and Jack snorted.

“It was a lovely letter, though,” Jack said. “I still have it.”

Jane smiled, charmed. “You do?”

“Of course.”

“I still have the letters you sent me while I was in Europe,” she said. “I thoroughly enjoyed that tour, but oh, did I get homesick! Your letters were like a slice of Melbourne to keep in my pocket.”

“Whereas when you went to Sydney for school, your letters dwindled,” Jack said, and the sadness in his voice was only partly feigned. “You had no time for a pen pal who was a crotchety old copper.”

“Jack!” she laughed. “I hardly had time to miss you, you visited me so often!”

“Well, someone had to volunteer for those Sydney prisoner transfers, and I had more reason than most.”

They beamed at each other as the song ended. Jack led Jane off the floor in the direction of the refreshment table, and offered her a glass of lemonade, taking one himself.

“I am, it must be said, prodigiously proud of you, Jane Ross,” Jack said quietly, his eyes on her face, which was pink-cheeked from dancing. “You have grown into a remarkable woman.”

Jane lifted on her toes to press a kiss to Jack’s cheek. She inhaled as she did so. His scent—shaving cream, spicy aftershave, and something reminiscent of biscuits; vanilla, maybe?—always made her feel safe.

“I had good role models,” she said, smiling softly at him. “The best.”

“Oh, don’t let Phryne hear you say that,” Jack laughed, even as he blinked rather rapidly. “She prefers to be considered a poor role model.” Forgetting their period sensibilities, he flung an arm around Jane’s shoulder and squeezed. “Happy birthday, my darling girl.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Whims and Inconsistencies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941638) by [CollingwoodGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollingwoodGirl/pseuds/CollingwoodGirl), [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign), [gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows), [Heavyheadedgal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/pseuds/Heavyheadedgal), [jasbo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasbo/pseuds/jasbo), [Meldanya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldanya/pseuds/Meldanya), [MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/pseuds/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy), [PlayfulMay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayfulMay/pseuds/PlayfulMay)




End file.
